As the old saying goes: Sorrow should not cross the river, for autumn's heart splits in two.
But where does one put all that melancholy?
Charlie found himself rewriting his letter yet again, changing the story he told. This time, he spoke of a friend at the dragon reserve—not someone seeking advice on wooing a girl, but someone desperate to make amends after hurting or disappointing one.
Yet even after sealing the envelope, a hollow ache lingered in Charlie's chest. He had no idea if he'd ever see Puxi again.
Maybe she was like a shooting star—brilliant for a moment, then gone forever from his world.
If that was the case, then even all of Qin Yu's clever tricks would be useless.
The thought soured his mood further.
He couldn't understand why, in that moment, he'd felt such fear toward Puxi. Hadn't he always believed, deep down, that she was pure and transparent, incapable of harming anyone he loved?
It was as if he'd been hit by a Confundus Charm, his mind clouded and irrational.
"Maybe I'll never see her again..."
The idea filled him with a suffocating emotion, pressing against his chest until he could barely breathe.
But there was nothing he could do. He didn't even know where Puxi went when she wasn't with him.
"If I ever see her again, I'll get answers—no matter what!"
He clenched his fists, all his tangled feelings hardening into determination and a hint of anger.
He was angry at the girl who'd barged into his life, only to leave just as suddenly.
"How could she do that? It's just... irresponsible!" Charlie muttered, frustration boiling over.
Humans are strange creatures—emotions can shift in an instant.
As some Eastern poet once wrote: When love runs deep, it breeds resentment; when passion is thickest, it can turn thin.
Of course, Charlie didn't know such words.
...
...
Let's shift the scene.
It was Wednesday at Hogwarts. First-years had Charms in the morning and Herbology in the afternoon.
Now, in the warmth of the castle's greenhouse, Herbology class was underway.
The first-year curriculum was simple: recognizing the features and uses of magical plants. Some lessons touched on basic cultivation, but these herbs were forgiving—nothing like Mandrakes, where even repotting could knock you out cold if you weren't careful.
Today, each young witch and wizard had a pot of particularly attractive greenery in front of them: compound leaves made up of small, oval leaflets, and spiky flower clusters—white petals tinged with pale purple.
This was the herb they'd been studying lately—Dittany.
"...Let me remind you all once more," said Professor Sprout, holding up a tiny bottle of pale green potion, "Dittany is a widely used healing herb. The essence extracted from it works wonders on wounds, but even the plant itself can be applied directly to injuries. In the wild, animals will actually seek out Dittany, chew it up, and spit it onto their wounds..." Her voice was warm and practical as she addressed the class.
Hermione Granger had been dutifully taking notes, her quill scratching across her notebook.
But when her eyes drifted—just for a moment—toward the glass wall of the greenhouse, her serious expression melted into a radiant smile. She caught herself, quickly pressing her lips together and smoothing out her features, but the laughter in her eyes lingered, impossible to hide.
Sitting near the front, and being such a model student, Hermione's slip did not escape Professor Sprout's notice.
The plump witch followed her gaze—and sure enough, spotted the last person she wanted to see waiting outside.
Her heart gave a little jolt, and she glanced nervously at all the Dittany plants in the room.
Last year, that boy had borrowed (well, "borrowed") a hefty supply of Dittany for some "scar-removing, beautifying skin care product." He'd promised her a share of the profits if he succeeded, and she'd foolishly believed him. Nearly half the greenhouse had been stripped bare.
Still, he had managed to brew a Dittany spray that made treating wounds much more convenient—a small comfort for Professor Sprout.
"Well, that's about time... I see other students are finishing up," she said, glancing pointedly at Hermione. "Let's end today's lesson here."
A wave of relief swept through the class.
"Gather your things, and don't leave anything strange in the flowerpots!" she called out. These careless young wizards were always dropping odd bits into the pots, causing all sorts of trouble for the plants—a constant headache for Professor Sprout.
The students responded with a chorus of half-hearted acknowledgements, busy packing up.
Hermione was no exception. She tucked her notebook and quill away, double-checked her workstation, then stepped away from her seat.
She gave Professor Sprout a polite bow and hurried off—her steps quickening as she made for the Eastern boy waiting outside.
Now that class was over, there was no need to hide her smile.
After all, the teacher couldn't stop her anymore.
Dimensional Wall
(Author's note: There'll be another chapter in about half an hour—this one was so long I had to split it, giving the illusion of a double update.)
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